


IOU

by Karasuno Volleygays (ToBeOrNotToBeAGryffindor)



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe, Art, Friends With Benefits, Frisky Chef Makki, Full Body Tattoo, M/M, Yakuza Accountant Mattsun, but feelings get in the way, fic with art
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-14
Updated: 2018-02-14
Packaged: 2019-03-18 04:00:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,358
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13673838
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ToBeOrNotToBeAGryffindor/pseuds/Karasuno%20Volleygays
Summary: Matsukawa Issei goes in for a tattoo and ends up with an interesting new friend in Hanamaki Takahiro. Soon his visits to his tattoo artist's studio in the back of a restaurant become a highlight of his days, and that's before feelings start to wriggle their way into the picture.





	IOU

**Author's Note:**

  * For [anoneesan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/anoneesan/gifts).



> This is a gift for the Matsuhana City Valentine's Exchange on Discord for Ano. Because Ano is a superhero, Gen/seijoustardust and I decided to do a two-for-one gift special, so have some art along with it.
> 
> On that note, while the art piece is not explicit, I'd like to recommend making sure no one is peeking over your shoulder about 3/4 the way down the fic. ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

The front of the restaurant looks like any other on the street, but Issei knows it is much different on the inside — more specifically, in the back. There are only a few tattoo artists in Japan, let alone in Sendai, but the best of the best in the prefecture operates out the back of a ramen place run by associates of his. They're also footing the bill for his visit to this artist, some guy named Iwaizumi.

He enters the shop, his nostrils confronted by the heady smell of meaty broth, but he fights off the urge to take a table and heads to the counter instead. When the hostess arrives, she asks, "Will it just be one today?"

Issei nods and replies, "I can see the stars out tonight."

Comprehension lights in her eyes, and she pastes on a perfect customer service smile and chimes, "Right this way, sir."

They head through a set of swinging doors, where the clatter of pots and pans in the kitchen grows louder as they pass. In the back room, there are neat stacks of crates and boxes, and in the back there is an old door to what looks on the outside like a walk-in refrigerator. The hostess knocks three times, and she receives two knocks in return before bowing to Issei. "Iwaizumi-sensei will be right out for you."

Issei denies himself the urge to sit, knowing he'll spend more than enough time not standing. Instead, he stands with his hands behind his back and patiently awaits his turn. Nearly twenty minutes pass by before the door to the walk-in cracks open, producing a pale-faced man nursing a fresh spread of ink on his arm. The pain is something Issei expects, even though not being able to wash it away with a stiff drink or two is rather noisome.

He enters the walk-in, surprised to find a hazy atmosphere filled with sweet-smelling smoke from an incense burner in the corner. There is a convertible workbench currently positioned to function like a chair, but the artist he assumes is Iwaizumi fiddles with knobs and bars until it's flattened out. Issei has already suggested what he wants from his irezumi-style tattoo, and he doesn't hesitate to start unbuttoning his shirt in preparation for it.

"You sure you're ready for this?" Iwaizumi asks, quirking a brow at Issei. "Full body length is not going to be fast or pleasant. Most newbies go for something small."

Issei chuckles. "It's probably a terrible idea, but I'm okay with doing this in sessions if you are. I'm only going to get this done once, so I want something good."

Iwaizumi nods and pulls his sketchbook off of a shelf along the wall. "Fair enough." He hands the book to Issei, which is open to a page toward the back. "From what you said in your message, I came up with this. If you don't like it, I can make changes."

The words almost miss Issei's attention because he can't take his eyes off of the sketch in his hands. On the page is a colored outline of two snakes starting at the right ankle, wrapping their way up his leg and torso until the heads curve onto either side of the shoulder. It's easily one of the most stunning things he's ever seen, and a talented artist is ready to ink it into his body forever. His breath caught as he said, "No. This is good."

"Cool. Now comes the fun part." Iwaizumi points at the table and says, "I'll start with the legs, so strip from at least the waist down."

Color tinges Issei's cheeks, and Iwaizumi rolls his eyes. "Dude, I see other guys' junks every day. I literally do not give a single shit."

Face even redder, Issei complies. Soon, he finds himself completely nude and lying on his side on the bench. He sees the set of needles Iwaizumi pulls out of his rolling supply cabinet and looks away. He knows what the process entails, but it doesn't mean he needs or wants to watch.

Issei's breaths are labored as the process begins, with unpleasant tingling manifesting as the design does. Iwaizumi gives him short breaks every ten minutes to give him a chance to acclimate and to cool his overheated skin. The design progresses up his leg until a few hours later, when Iwaizumi stops and says, "I think that's enough for today. Come back in a week and I'll start filling in the detail."

Finally devoid of needles in his skin, Issei looks down and hisses in a breath as he takes in the line art of the snakes from head to toe, and even without the scales and with the surrounding skin angry and red, they are even more stunning than the original drawing suggested. "It's beautiful," he murmurs, daring to trace one of the outlines and regretting it. "That was stupid."

"Yeah, it was." Iwaizumi hands him a small jar of cream. "Put this on every few hours throughout the day to keep the irritation down, and buy a roll of plastic wrap to cover whatever you can for the next few days or your clothes are gonna make you miserable."

Nodding, Issei says, "Thank you, Iwaizumi-sensei. Your work is amazing."

Iwaizumi gives him a bob of the head and says, "See you in a couple of weeks. Talk to Akira to schedule your next appointment."

"Who's Akira?"

"One of the servers. Kind of tall, looks like he hasn't slept in a year, mean case of resting bitch face but, like, the pretty kind." Iwaizumi chortles. "He'll be looking for you."

Humming in acknowledgement, Issei gingerly puts his underwear back on, only for his skin to feel like it's on fire when he tries to re-don his jeans. "Goddamnit."

Iwaizumi looks up from his sketchbook, which he had been doodling in since he dismissed Issei. "You should probably wait a while for your skin to cool off. You can hang out in the back room. Just leave your shorts on when you can so you don't scare the waitresses."

Doing as instructed, Issei loosely hangs his button-up shirt on his shoulders and drags his jeans behind him as he exits the walk-in and gives way for another of Iwaizumi's clients lingering outside. Nearby, he spies a solid-looking crate and sits on it with a sigh of relief. "Oh, this is gonna suck for a while."

He jolts in surprise when a head of strawberry hair pokes out from behind a shelving unit and chimes, "Looks like you're going to be a frequent flier. The details on that thing will kick your ass."

Issei nods. "Yeah, that's what Iwaizumi-sensei said. I'm supposed to use this cream stuff and wrap it in plastic. Sounds gross."

"It is; I've seen it." The guy comes over to look closer at Issei's tattoo and hums in interest. "That is gonna be so hot when it's done."

"Excuse me?" Issei raises a brow, even over a lazy smile. "You say that as if you'll get to see it."

His visitor rolls his eyes. "I will. I work here every dinner shift. It's impossible _not_ to see everyone who comes through here." He holds out a hand. "Hanamaki Takahiro. I'm one of the sous-chefs."

Issei takes Takahiro's proffered gesture and returns the favor. "Matsukawa Issei."

Takahiro grins at him. "So, you're one of _them_ , aren't you?"

It doesn't take much of a stretch to figure out who 'they' are; most people avoid mentioning the word out loud, but everyone knows who the yakuza are. Takahiro knows Issei works for them and doesn't seem to particularly care. "Yeah. Not all of us cook for a living."

"A shame, isn't it?" Takahiro glides away and roots through a box on a shelf until he produces a familiar-looking package. When he returns, Issei notices the brand name and his eyes widen. "Here, let me help you. You're a noob, and I'd hate to see you fuck up that nice canvas of yours."

Seeing Takahiro drop to his knees in front of him stuns Issei too much for him to argue, so he offers up the jar of cream and absorbs the experience of Takahiro's careful fingers slathering it all the way up the side of his body. However, once he gets to the waist, Takahiro looks up at Issei and snaps the waistband of his boxer briefs. "Yeah, you're gonna have to take these off."

Face a fantastic shade of tomato, Issei does as he's bid, turning away from Takahiro and standing with his hand over his crotch when he turns back. Takahiro chuckles as he finishes applying the skin cream. Kneeling in front of Issei, he starts wrapping at the ankle and quickly winds around the length of Issei's long leg.

When Takahiro's ministrations reach the inside of Issei's thighs, he looks up and smirks. "You'll have to move your hands for a minute. No need to be shy."

Issei lets out a shuddering breath as he takes in Takahiro's smoldering gaze, but he does as he's told and can't look away as Takahiro's arms wrap around his body to bind his torso. Their shared journey comes to and end as Takahiro tears off the length of plastic and presses the length down gently to seal the job.

"There, now," he says as he wipes off his hands on the towel draped from his apron. "You'll want to change that every time you re-apply the cream stuff, and be careful when you shower or it'll hurt like a bitch."

"Sounds like you speak from experience," Issei remarks as he carefully pulls his underwear back on.

Takahiro shakes his head. "Nah. There's just a lot of guys who come in here thinking they're hot shit and end up crying in the corner because they thought they were tougher than centuries of irezumi experience." He disappears for a moment and returns with a bottle of water for Issei. "Remember, lay off the booze."

"I remember." Issei guzzles half the water, both because he hasn't had anything to drink for hours and because it gives him something to do other than think about two strangers seeing his dick in one night. Iwaizumi's gaze was only for his work and for the health of his living canvas, but there is something about Takahiro's attention that is far more basic in its nature.

Clapping Issei on his blank shoulder, Takahiro says, "Well, I'll leave you alone. My break is over." He waves as he passes through the doors leading back to the kitchen. "See you next time."

Issei can't help but shiver, but he refuses to classify it as a thrill. Maybe he'll save that for the second date.

 

On his next visit, Issei finds his own way to the back and raps on the door himself. When he receives the reply knock, he sits down on the same crate as last time, but he starts undressing right away. By the time the door cracks open to release another shivering client, Issei has his clothes under his arm and strolls right in.

"Nice to see you again, Iwaizumi-sensei." Issei drops his clothes onto a chair in the corner and heads for the work bench just as Iwaizumi finishes flattening it out. "Shall we?"

Iwaizumi snorts. "You're on the ball tonight. You in a hurry?"

"No." Issei drops his underwear and props himself onto the work surface. "I have all the time in the world tonight, but your time is probably a lot more valuable."

The rolling cart pausing halfway over, Iwaizumi gives him a strange look. "I think that's the first time one of you guys has ever even pretended to give a shit about that.  You're not like the rest of them, are you?"

"I'm just like me," Issei says, his fingers tracing the lines on his skin that has finally lost its redness just in time for a fresh wave of it. "What I do doesn't really require mixing with the rest of the organization very often. And, you know, time is money in every business."

"Yeah, don't wanna know," Iwaizumi murmurs, a needle in his hand. "You ready?"

"Go for it."

This time, Issei is more prepared for the way his skin aches from the painstaking process that is irezumi, but this session is different. The way up the length of his leg is much slower as Iwaizumi puts down the outlines of the snakes' scales. It's a lot more difficult to block out the throbbing pain, but he concentrates on keeping his breaths deep and rhythmic until Iwaizumi finally says, "All right. That's enough."

The details of the design are only filled in up to Issei's hip, but he's grateful that he doesn't have to lie on his side for another moment longer, his other side tingling angrily as well. While his blood starts flowing again, Issei is unsteady when he slides off the bench and onto his feet.

"Careful on your way out." Iwaizumi scribbles something into his sketchbook and growls under his breath. "I kept you longer than I wanted to and you're gonna feel it for a few days."

"Yeah," Issei groans as he hobbles over to his clothes, not bothering with his underwear, instead opting to use the bundle to cover his groin on his way out. "Next time then, Iwaizumi-sensei?"

With a grunt of agreement, Iwaizumi said, "I'll be here."

Issei exist, and he sinks gratefully onto a crate, ignoring the blushing guy who goes in after him. He takes the jar of cream from his jeans pocket and unceremoniously drops his clothes on the floor, shivering in relief as he smooths the cool substance over his burning skin.

"You started without me," calls a familiar voice, and Takahiro again emerges from behind a row of shelves.

Chuckling, Issei says, "I didn't know I was supposed to wait for you. My apologies." He gives Takahiro a lopsided smile as he hands over the jar. "All yours."

"Excellent." Takahiro dips his fingers in and starts the process over, covering ground Issei had already done. However, Issei doesn’t object because he doesn’t at all mind the sensation of work-roughened fingers moving so softly over his angry skin.

At his hip where the new work stops, Issei remarks, “So, do you do this for all of Iwaizumi-sensei’s clients?”

Takahiro laughed, a heady sound that makes Issei’s heart flutter in his chest. “Oh hell no. Just the hot ones.”

Issei’s lips twitch. “How do you know if your interest is, eh, returned?”

“You’re too cute to be straight,” Takahiro says while he starts wrapping up Issei’s leg. “It’s against the law.”

Shrugging, Issei says, “Well, you’re not wrong. I’m into anything that feels good.”

“Oh?” Takahiro’s hands pause in the middle of Issei’s thighs. “So what kind of things make you feel good then, Issei-kun?”

Takahiro’s fingers drag along the inside of Issei’s thighs and draw a hiss of pleasure. “That,” he gasps, letting his head loll back as he groans out loud, “feels really good.”

Finishing his task, Takahiro looks up at Issei under long lashes and smirks. “Care to feel something else?”

Issei’s breath quickens, his answer in the way he buries his fingers roughly in Takahiro’s soft hair. Lips brush the inside of his thighs, making his flesh itch with need, and when teeth sink into his skin, he mutters under his breath, “Fuck.”

With one last peck on the skin he had teased with his mouth, Takahiro’s head lifts from between Issei’s legs. “Only if you’re a good boy and wait for me next time.” He nudges the hand covering Issei’s crotch aside and licks a long stripe up the underside of his cock. “Do we have a deal, Issei-kun?”

“God yes,” Issei gasps, his entire being begging Takahiro to finish what he started. “I’ll wait for you, I promise.”

Takahiro stood, and with a hooded gaze, he tucks a finger under Issei’s chin and leans down to leave a searing kiss. They break apart, and with his lips barely a millimeter away from Issei’s, he whispers, “I’ll see you then.”

He heads back toward the kitchens, leaving Issei behind him naked, aroused, and impatient for the next two weeks to pass.

 

Issei takes the earliest appointment with Iwaizumi he can get the sullen Akira to agree to, and eight days later, he finds himself subject to the yet more of Iwaizumi’s detail work. The skin on his torso much more sensitive than his legs, Issei finds it almost impossible to contain his agony. Iwaizumi’s mandatory breaks are welcome, and when the session ends, he can’t wait to stumble out of that claustrophobic room and escape the heady scent of vanilla lingering in the air.

This time, he doesn’t even bother trying to start applying the salve or to cover himself; instead, he drapes himself on the first available surface and hopes it will stop hurting to draw a full breath sooner rather than later. Or that the urge to scratch at it will pass.

“You waited,” comes Takahiro’s husky voice as he saunters over to stand in front of Issei. “Also, you’re early. I almost didn’t believe Akira-kun when he said you were here.”

Trying and failing to chuckle without disturbing his protesting skin, Issei replies, “Just a masochist, I guess. Plus, there is some motivation there.”

Takahiro’s fingers begin their usual ministrations. “Oh?” He works his way gently around Issei’s ribs, his warm peals of breath exciting every nerve they touch. “Well, your ink is coming out gorgeously. It’ll be incredible once it’s colored.”

“That’s what I keep telling myself when I wrap myself in plastic like leftovers.” Issei squeezes his eyes shut and groans as Takahiro’s finger traces a languid trail up the middle of his chest. “Just imagine it.”

His hands stilling, Takahiro hums in question. “And what am I supposed to imagine?”

Issei quirks a lopsided smile. “Getting to touch it without my skin feeling like it’s on fire.”

“Is that a promise?” Takahiro’s words ghost over the line of Issei’s jaw, leaving a shiver of anticipation in its wake.

Issei reaches up to indulge his urge to touch Takahiro’s hair, but the entire right side of his torso disagrees with that movement and he winces. “Let’s, uh, call it an IOU.”

Takahiro chuckles and starts wrapping. “If that’s the case, I’ll be sure to put you way more into debt.” Finishing up, he pats Issei’s cheek. “You, Issei-kun, are one check I would really love to cash.”

Huffing a disappointed sigh, Issei murmurs, “God I want that to be me right now.”

“Well, you’ve been a good boy,” Takahiro says, scratching his chin in thought. “Maybe I could send you on your way with a _little_ bit of something.” With that, he sinks to his knees and gives Issei’s half-erect cock a long, lingering look. “I’m very invested in the final product.”

“That makes two of us.” Issei’s voice is barely more than a breath and his heart is pounding in his chest. The urge to grab a fistful of Takahiro’s silky hair and slide that smirking mouth around his cock is almost overwhelming. It’s also one he doesn’t have to fight too hard when Takahiro wraps his lips around his length on his own accord.

Vivid brown eyes lock with Issei’s under long, pale lashes, and the sight makes Issei’s breath catch. He can’t look away from the sight of Takahiro’s mouth working his length, a coil of intense sensation winding itself low in his abdomen. It becomes increasingly more difficult to keep still, despite the way his entire right side still aches, and he finally caves in to his craving to bury his fingers in Takahiro’s hair.

Takahiro growls around his length, sending a shiver of delight straight to that ever tightening coil in his belly. The waves of delicious _feeling_ only intensify as Takahiro’s pace increases, and soon he knows he’s about to go over the edge. “I — gonna come.”

Smirking around Issei’s cock, Takahiro sinks all the way to the hilt in time for Issei to spill down his throat. He pulls away, panting as a few stray tears trickle from the corners of his eyes, and Issei struggles to think of anything he’s seen that’s as beautiful. Ignoring the pangs in his side, Issei hauls Takahiro to his chest and brands him with a demanding kiss. His own flavor is bitter on his tongue, but it doesn’t stop him from avidly ravaging Takahiro’s mouth.

When Takahiro pulls away, he wipes a stray trail of saliva from his lips and laps it away. “I knew you had good taste when I saw your tattoo, and I have to say you are not a disappointment”

“At your service.” Issei pecks one last kiss on Takahiro’s ruddy lips. “But I should really put my pants back on.”

“Spoilsport,” Takahiro pouts, even as he saves Issei the strain of bending over to pick up his clothes, handing him one garment at a time. “I look forward to racking up another IOU.”

Finishing up the last few buttons of his shirt, Issei chortles. “That makes two of us.”

 

Issei’s visits increase to once per week, and Iwaizumi’s vivid coloring skills start to spread across his skin. He spends much of his time gazing at the artistry of it in amazement. However, despite how deeply he craves having the completed product, Issei’s attentions are almost always derailed by his usual post-sessions with Takahiro.

As promised, Takahiro meets him after every visit to Iwaizumi’s makeshift studio to soothe his skin and make the rest of him burn for something else entirely. Not every meeting between them is as breathtaking as the one Issei can’t seem to banish from his mind.

When he’s sitting at his desk, crunching numbers for his employers financials, Issei has to stop frequently to visit the bathroom and splash cold water on his face just so some part of him doesn’t feel like it’s on fire. Every time he closes his eyes, the scene replays in his head — Takahiro’s eager mouth and sultry eyes crushing Issei’s control like it’s the easiest thing in the world.

And now, after months of this sweetest torture, Issei isn’t sure if he has so much of a scrap of that control left.

After one of their sessions, Iwaizumi puts down his needle and dusts his hands off on the legs of his frayed jeans. “Okay, dude, you are all set. Keep taking care of it like you have until your skin completely heals. Come back in six months so I can check up on the color saturation.”

“What?” Issei looks down at the length of his body from his reverie, having long ago steeled himself to the pain so he can concentrate enough to work on his schedule for the next week on his phone or even just play a few games of sudoku. He chuckles. “I kind of forgot this would be finished eventually. It’s sort of a habit now.”

Iwaizumi snorts. “Yeah, I’ll miss you too, man. Oh, and thanks for helping me with my taxes. I friggin hate math.”

“It’s what I do.” He slides his feet on the floor, in no hurry to get to his clothes because he hasn’t had to fully strip for over a month, much to a certain someone’s chagrin. He gathers his things — just his shirt and a messenger bag that day — and gives Iwaizumi a tight smile. “I’ll see you around, Hajime.”

“Yeah, see ya.” Issei gives the studio one last searching look before he exits. Outside, he doesn’t see the next person in line, as his session had concluded earlier than planned. The other thing he finds missing is a certain strawberry-blond sous-chef.

Issei sits and leans against a nearby stack of crates, still naked from the waist up, and his patience is rewarded almost twenty minutes later when Takahiro, still in his apron, whisks into the room to fetch a case of potatoes. “Hey, stranger.”

Takahiro stops, his shoulders rolling before he sets the crate on the floor. “You’re already done?”

“Yep.” Issei gestures toward the now fully-colored snake head on his shoulder. “We just finished it off, so I’m hanging out for a while.”

With a smirk, Takahiro comes over and plops down next to Issei. “Oh?”

“I didn’t want to leave without getting your number.” Issei reaches up and softly skates his thumb down the length of Takahiro’s jaw. “Who else is supposed to take care of my need to get stabbed once a week?”

Takahiro’s eyes widen. “Does that mean you want to —”

“What, do everything with you?” His fingers drift up and card through Takahiro’s hair. “I sit at my desk, trying like hell to think about numbers, but the only thing on my mind is this.” He leans over and feathers a kiss to Takahiro’s lips. “And you.”

Shivering, Takahiro dragged his fingers down Issei’s chest and stops just short of the waistband of his trousers. “I didn’t know you felt like that. I thought you just, well . . .” His cheeks redden, drowning the dusting of freckles on his cheeks in a pretty shade of pink. “I thought you just wanted some no-strings-attached fun.”

Issei swallows hard and frowns. “I mean, if that’s what _you_ want, that’s fine. I’ll get over it. But it isn’t what I want.”

A warm smile — not a smirk or a leer like Issei has come to expect — spreads across Takahiro’s face. “Maybe your next tattoo should be my phone number.”

“Well, Hajime probably has some extra time, so . . .” Issei shrugs and lets out a low laugh. “For the moment, though, I’ll settle for a number and your next day off a couple weeks from now.”

Out of pure habit, Takahiro produces a jar of salve he had started bringing over a month before when Issei’s supply had run out and starts working it over the affected area. “Well, I have every Monday off when the restaurant is closed, but that’s probably a school night for you.”

Issei’s eyes shine with amusement. “I won’t tell my mom if you don’t.”

“Oh, she is so not invited.” Takahiro crushes his mouth to Issei’s, groaning hungrily as his clean hand reaches down and palms Issei’s crotch. “Mmm, I wish we were somewhere else right now.”

“That makes two of us,” Issei pants, his words shredded by the effort of hauling Takahiro into his lap without breaking their kiss.

Takahiro rolls his hips and swallows the moan of appreciation it elicits, and Issei finds his hands drifting toward the pert curve of Takahiro’s ass to help his efforts along. They undulate their hips together, sweat sprouting on Issei’s brow as he loses his fight to keep his arousal at bay. Hard and ready to do something about it, he hefts Takahiro and presses him roughly against a nearby wall. His arm hooks under Takahiro’s knee, and his hips roughly thrust up into Takahiro’s at an almost brutal pace.

“Oh, fuck me,” Takahiro whines over Issei’s shoulder, his cheek buried into the curve of Issei’s neck.

“You got it, babe.” Issei lets the barest of giggles escape before he claims Takahiro’s mouth once again.

The press of mouths and hips grows more and more frantic as Issei feels close to coming in his underwear like a randy teenager, but he can’t help it. Every sound, every expression, every sensation Takahiro makes draws something base and urgent from deep within Issei. He’s had plenty of sex in his life with partners of varying gender, but nothing has dragged this level of raw passion out of him before.

Their heated fumbling is interrupted by the sound of a box loudly falling to the floor. Both of their heads wheel around to spot the disturbance, only to find Akira rolling his eyes and picking up the case of potatoes Takahiro had abandoned. “Chef is not going to like you disappearing like this, Hanamaki-san. You want me to tell him you’re sick or something?”

Takahiro sighs in defeat, and Issei can definitely relate. “No. I need to finish out the service. I just —” He turns to Issei and pecks him on the lips. “Duty calls.”

“Yeah.” Issei’s throat is hoarse with need, but he lowers Takahiro to his own unsteady feet, giving him a tight smile. “Can I see your phone for a sec?”

Once he has Takahiro’s phone, he sends a text to his own number then returns it to its owner with a lingering kiss. “Don’t forget to cash in those IOUs,” he murmurs before commanding his unwilling hands to let go of Takahiro’s waist.

Takahiro sashays away and calls over his shoulder, “With interest.”

Issei’s fingers tremble as he puts his shirt back on, his gaze glued to the door Takahiro had passed through long after he’s gone. Every part of him demands he barge through that door into the kitchen, snatch Takahiro away, and take him home to finish what they started. But he can’t do that to either of them; after all, his employer — _their_ employer — would not be happy for a disruption in any of his ventures.

On his way out, he’s stopped by Akira outside the front door, who directs him to the alley next to the building. “Don’t break Hanamaki-san’s heart, Matsukawa-san,” Akira says in a low voice. “He’s been hurt before, and I don’t want to see it happen again.”

A cold shiver races down his spine at the edge in Akira’s tone. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

Akira leans against the wall of the building and crosses his arms. “And if you hurt him, I’ll make you even more sorry.” He pulls a small blade from his jacket pocket and throws it, startling Issei as it lands with a dull thud in the side of a stack of pallets behind him. “I didn’t always wait tables, you know. I used to be the valet for our employer’s youngest son. I served him in a number of ways.”

“Um, mind if I ask why you’re not doing that anymore?” Issei asks the question, but he’s not entirely sure he wants to know the answer.

But Akira simply laughs. “I served him a little too well in the backseat of Yuutarou’s Maserati. Not exactly my finest moment, or my most discreet.”

Issei heaves a sigh of relief that he isn’t going to find himself jobless or worse, but Akira’s earlier words linger. “You said he’s had his heart broken.”

“Yeah.” Akira fiddles with his hands and avoids looking at Issei. “There was a guy he really liked who came for Iwaizumi-sensei’s services, same as you. But he took what Hanamaki-san offered and didn’t give anything in return. He’d come for a fuck and then go home to his wife and kid. Hanamaki-san was crushed when he found out.”

His belly curdling in disgust, Issei spits, “That’s disgusting. I wouldn’t ever do that.”

“Glad to hear it.” Akira pushes off the side of the building and retrieves his knife. “Have a good rest of your day, Matsukawa-san.” With that, he stows his knife, shoves his hands into his pockets, and whistles as he heads back into the restaurant.

Issei throws back his head and laughs. He can’t say he’s ever been given a big brother speech before, but if anything, it gives him hope that things will work out for him and Takahiro. After all, Akira doesn’t seem the type to issue empty threats, nor would he bother if their budding relationship weren’t going somewhere.

Akira’s sprightly tune sticks in Issei’s head as he wanders away, humming all the way to his bus stop.

 

The two of them text frequently over the course of the next couple of weeks, from the regular banalities of their days to promises of what is to come when they finally get a chance to meet again. Issei sends snapshots of his tattoo’s healing progress, and Takahiro returns the favor with pictures of a far more intimate nature.

But the day finally arrives that it theirs and theirs alone. Issei had worked all through the weekend to get himself ahead of schedule, and one single Monday off is his reward. It’s a day he intends to spend with Takahiro to its fullest.

And that day starts out with a frantic whirl of cleaning to scrape all the bachelorhood he can out of his apartment, followed by more cooking than he’s done in years. He’s already sweating by the time he finishes preparing the meal, so he sneaks in a quick shower and puts on the clothes he had taken a half hour just to pick out.

At last, the knock on the door comes three minutes early, and Issei heaves a sigh of relief. Whatever happens will happen, and he doesn’t think anything could ruin his enthusiasm for this first real date with Takahiro. Behind the door, Takahiro greets him with waggling eyebrows and a rose between his teeth, and Issei has to swallow hard to squelch the urge to forget dinner and go straight for dessert.

He turns his attention to the rest of Takahiro, instead, taking in the sight of him in dark wash jeans and a graphic t-shirt that Issei suspects is from an anime. It makes him feel a little overdressed in olive trousers and a sage-colored sweater, but when Takahiro’s jaw drops and sends the rose plummeting to the floor in favor of a grin.

“Hey, you look really nice,” he observes, picking up the rose and pushing it under Issei’s nose. With a grin, he adds, “This is for you.”

Issei gently takes the flower and inhales its sweet scent, his lips pulling into a smile behind the petals. “I love roses. Thank you.” He holds the rose behind his back in one hand and cups Takahiro’s jaw with the other, guiding their mouths together for a soft, gentle kiss. “I’ve never seen you out of your chef suit thing before.”

“Well, my ass _does_ look good in pajamas,” Takahiro jokes before pecking Issei on the cheek. “It smells great in here. You didn’t have to cook for me. I could’ve done that.”

Shaking his head, Issei takes Takahiro’s hand in his and guides him over to the couch. “You cook every day. It must be nice to have someone else do it for you for a change.”

Takahiro’s eyes widen, and Issei’s belly does a little flip. “Yeah, actually it is. I don’t cook at home because I don’t want to start hating it or anything. That would be a waste of four years of culinary school.”

Issei chuckles. “So I guess I’m going to have to brush up a little, and I’ll cook for you whenever you want. It’s not gourmet, but I haven’t killed anyone.” He winks. “At least not yet. I’ll make sure you’re not the first, at any rate.”

“So kind.” Takahiro leans back into the couch and groans with pleasure. “This is an awesome friggin couch, Issei. You must make bank doing your math nerd thing.”

Stifling a laugh, Issei moves over to the kitchen for a glass to put the rose in, setting it in the center of the table. “I get by. I bought it after the boss told me he’d spring for my tattoo.”

Takahiro’s head whips around to gape at him. “No way. That design would probably run around three-hundred-thousand. The boss must like you."

"Maybe." Issei starts setting the table and shrugs. "I make him money, so I guess it's fair."

"Lucky asshole." Takahiro groans as he extricates himself from the couch and heads over to the table. "I feel like I should be doing something. It's weird having someone else cook. Or even get to eat what I cook, for that matter."

Issei pokes him with a pair of chopsticks and grins. "Don't dare make fun of my cooking, by the way. I'm more of a takeout man, but I can make a respectable meal."

Takahiro snags the chopsticks and puts them at his own place setting. "You should do it more. It smells great, and it's good for the soul."

Nodding in agreement, Issei brings over the pot of miso soup he had made earlier, as well as rice and the tempura beef he had just finished before Takahiro's arrival. "It's basic, but it should taste okay."

After Issei pours the wine, they share a quick blessing and set into the food. Issei admires his handiwork, glad he had decided on something simple he could make well. He eyes Takahiro as he dishes out his own food, but he gulps when Takahiro's eyes bulge after biting into a battered strip of beef.

"Is that what I think it is?" He holds up the strip for inspection. "Well I'll be damned, it is."

Issei blushes, nibbling on his own piece. "Yeah, I'm kind of a slut for cheese. Beef and cheese are magical together."

Takahiro nods in approval. "I'm just admiring how well distributed it is. It's not easy stuffing cheese into places cheese doesn't normally go."

"It's worth it." Issei polishes off his own bite and hums in pleasure. "My mom used to make it for me. I may or may not have begged her to teach me how to make it."

Their eyes met, and Takahiro is the first to look away, his cheeks red. "You're so cute, what the hell."

The rest of the meal passes fairly quietly, with both of them intermittently looking over at one another to gauge their date's current level of success, and Issei can't say he thinks they're doing poorly at all. Takahiro is all smiles as he eats, leaving Issei with one less thing to worry about for the rest of the afternoon.

They finish, and Issei relents to Takahiro's insistence on clearing the table while Issei stows the leftovers. Once the task is completed, Issei scratches his temple and muses, "So, um, did you want to go somewhere? There's some new action flick that came out on Friday that's supposed to be good."

Takahiro rolls his eyes and presses his hips against Issei's, sandwiching him against the refrigerator. He reaches up and brushes a thumb across Issei's bottom lip. "We can if you want, but there's plenty to do here."

Shivering, Issei slides his hands into the back pockets of Takahiro's jeans. "Oh yeah?" He crushes their pelvises together roughly and digs his fingers into the flesh of Takahiro's backside. "Sounds good to me."

Their mouths met in the middle, moving urgently as their hands move to touch anything and everything they can find. But it isn't enough, Issei thinks, and in one swift movement, he hefts Takahiro up by his bottom and grips him flush against his chest. Takahiro's legs wrap around Issei's waist, his heels digging into Issei's backside, but he doesn't care.

Issei staggers out of the kitchen and toward his bedroom, their greedy mouths still joined while he blindly fumbles to slide the door open. On the bed, he drops himself on top of Takahiro, his knees straddling Takahiro's waist and his ass rolling against his groin. Takahiro breaks off their lingering kiss to moan, his eyes flickering shut. "Fuck."

It's barely more than a whisper, but the sound makes Issei's nerves sing and demand more of those sultry little noises. He slides his hands under the hem of Takahiro's tee and slowly edges it up as his mouth sets in on the gentle curve of Takahiro's neck. The cacophony of pleasured mewls fills his ears, and Issei has to rein himself in to keep from ripping off both of their clothes and skipping straight to the end.

Maybe later, but not today. Not now. His focus is all on Takahiro, on making him cry out until his voice is hoarse, on giving back every ounce of pleasure he had gifted to Issei during their heated makeouts in the back of the restaurant and then some. At the moment, Issei can't think of anything more important to him than reaching that goal.

He moves his mouth just enough to finish tugging off Takahiro's shirt, and it opens up an entirely new expanse for him to explore. It reminds him that for all the time they've spent together, Issei has always been the naked one. He can't even say he's seen a single sliver of Takahiro's taut chest until then, but he has to stop for a moment to take it in.

Issei's eyes drag over the bared flesh below him and it makes him swallow hard. Creamy skin adorned with golden freckles around his shoulders over a pair of already erect nipples. He blinks in surprise when he spies matching bars in each one of them. "Oh, shit."

Takahiro looks up at him, his expression far too uncertain for Issei's taste. "If you don't like it, I can take them out. It's not a big deal."

"That is literally the last thing I want to do," Issei breathed, his eyes glued to Takahiro's well-defined pecs. "Can I, like, play with those or is that gonna hurt?"

Sighing as he splays back on the bed, Takahiro chuckles. "Please god yes. You can touch me wherever the hell you want."

"Don't have to tell me twice." Issei leans down to drag his tongue over one of the hardened nubs, drawing a squirm of pleasure beneath him. He teased it with the tip of his tongue, taking in the texture difference between the metal balls on either end and the flesh between. He snags the bar between his teeth and gives it a little tug, and Takahiro's whine makes his heart pound.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck!" Takahiro chants, his breath quick and shallow while he tugs at his own hair. "God why are you so good at that, fuck."

Issei's lips curve into a smile around Takahiro's nipple. He'll have to file that away for future reference, because he can't think of a single thing that would make him not want to fuck Takahiro's brains out again and again if this is the reaction he'll get.

He moves on to the other and gives it similar treatment, not stopping until he can feel Takahiro's erect cock grind against his ass through the fabric of their clothes. His own trousers far too confining, he slides back to fumble with the fly of Takahiro's jeans and then tear his own sweater off in heated frustration.

Takahiro's gaze goes straight to the snakes coiled around his right side, the full color of them vivid and the skin around the ink finally losing its hue of irritation. His fingers reach up and trace the outline of the snake on Issei's shoulder. "It's even hotter than I thought it would be. I can't wait to see the rest of it."

"You know what it looks like," Issei teases, snagging Takahiro's hand and bringing it to his lips. "And you can see as much of it as you want, I promise."

Growling under his breath, Takahiro moves his grip down to the fastening of Issei's trousers, plucking them open with an ease Issei envies. "It means every time I get into your pants, there's always a present inside. You're like a cream puff."

Issei shivers at that mental image. Leaning down, he whispers to Takahiro, "I planned on being stuffed full of cream today anyway." He punctuates his bold claim with his tongue tracing the shell of Takahiro's ear, but he barely gets to finish that task before Takahiro flips them around and quickly relieves Issei of his pants and socks.

Takahiro palms Issei's junk and shivers. "How can you even say shit like that with a straight face? I almost came in my shorts just listening to it."

"You're not getting off the hook that easy," Issei chides, rolling his hips up into Takahiro's grip. His eyes flutter shut as he adds, "If you only come once today, then I fucked up."

Their lips crash together, and it steals Issei's breath. Over his mouth and around his jaw, Takahiro tastes all of it, and Issei is happy his trousers are gone so Takahiro's hand can work his length with far less impediment. Yet when he tries to return the favor, he grumbles in irritation that Takahiro's jeans have only been unzipped. Glad for his long arms for a change, Issei works Takahiro's pants down his thighs almost to his knees, and planting a foot in the middle of the waistband, he kicks them down to the ankles and sends Takahiro sprawling gracelessly on top of him.

"Well that didn't work." Issei's brows knit in concentration while his feet attempt to finish the task, with Takahiro sits with his arms crossed on Issei's chest watching him in amusement. Finally, the jeans drop to the floor and Issei can haul Takahiro up against him unfettered save for both their underwear. Yet when he looks down to finish off those, as well, Issei can't stifle a giggle. "Where do you even get donut boxers?"

Takahiro grins and shimmies out of his shorts, letting them drop unceremoniously. "From your floor."

"Cheeky. I like it." Issei pushes Takahiro up until he's upright and straddling Issei's waist, and his gaze lingers on the leaking pink tip of Takahiro's cock, which is larger than any Issei has ever taken, toy or otherwise. "Jesus."

Takahiro's smile falters. "You don't have to bottom. I like that, too, and I know it's kind of big."

Issei shakes his head vehemently. "You better be balls deep in my ass at some point today or I'm suing." At that thought, he shivers in anticipation. "Fuck, Taka. Fuck."

Their breath mingles, and Issei's heart stammers when Takahiro gives him a gentle smile. "Where have you been all my life?"

Tugging Takahiro down for a kiss, their lips brush together, and Issei whispers, "Getting ready for dessert?" Issei sits up and brushes his thumbs over Takahiro's nipples. "IOU, remember?"

"I was just bullshitting you. I did that stuff because I wanted to; you don't have to do anything you don't want to." Takahiro worries his bottom lip with his teeth and averts his eyes, and Issei can't banish what Akira had said from his mind.

He grips Takahiro's biceps and kneads the tight muscles under his fingers. "I know I don't. I'm just hoping you know that I don't have some sort of motive for being with you." He skates a trail of kisses down the curve of Takahiro's neck and nuzzles his face into the silken skin there. "I like you, Taka. If I didn't, I wouldn't have spent two weeks on pins and needles just hoping to spend some time with you." He drags his mouth up to nip at Takahiro's clean-shaven jaw and earns himself a gasp of pleasure.

"Issei," Takahiro breathes, his fingers raking down the smooth breadth of Issei's back. "That's the sappiest goddamn thing I've ever heard in my life." He grinds his ass against Issei's aching cock and smirks. "I love it."

His heart cranking up its pace, Issei flips Takahiro over onto the bed and sets to work exploring its hidden wonders. He rains kisses down the line of Takahiro's sternum and doesn't stop until he reaches his hips, sinking his teeth into the curve of it and letting the sigh it elicits linger in his ears. The journey continues down to the pale expanse of Takahiro's inner thigh. Nipping and sucking, Issei leaves a smattering of love bites that he hopes Takahiro can look at every morning when he wakes up and remember how good Issei wants to make him feel.

He ignores Takahiro's dripping cock in favor of seeking out the sensitive skin on the back of the knee, his rough swipe of the tongue making Takahiro's back arch off the bed as he whimpers. Takahiro's hand comes down to fist his cock, but Issei swats it away and chides, "I'm getting there. The only place I'm letting you come is in my ass."

"You're a cruel man, Issei." Takahiro squeezed his eyes shut, and Issei marveled at the sight of a tear slipping from the corner of his eye. "God I am so hard, what the fuck."

Issei chuckles and gently lowers Takahiro's leg back to the mattress. "Fine, I'll stop teasing you like this. I can't say no to that face you're making right now."

"Oh?" Takahiro hums, but his only answer his Issei flipping him over onto his stomach. "Ooh, are you gonna fuck me first then?"

Pressing his lips to the small of Takahiro's back, Issei murmured, "Something like that." With that, he sinks his teeth into the fullness of Takahiro's backside and smirks at the lewd moan it earns him. "On your knees, babe. Face in the pillow."

The command draws a shiver from Takahiro before he complies. Issei bites his lip and closes his eyes to keep from coming in his pants at the sight of Takahiro's hole spread out in front of him. He leans forward and drags his tongue from the taint all the way up until the tip circles the entrance. Beneath him, Takahiro's knees quiver, and Issei grips his thighs to steady him as he methodically works Takahiro's ass open.

Takahiro's strained vocalizations are almost a high to him, and Issei only gets more deliberate as the pleas for release grow louder. However, he has a mission to accomplish, and he can't ruin it now by pushing too far, so he reaches around and grips the base of Takahiro's throbbing cock.

"Fuck, Issei, you fucking tease." Takahiro wheezes through the throaty sound of his pleasure, and his balled up fist pounds the top of the covers. "I can't even think."

"Good." Issei releases his grip and leaves a brisk slap on Takahiro's cheek before pulling open the drawer to his nightstand he had restocked for this day. He pulls out a gleaming silver plug with a pair of golden snakes entwined on the polished end, and a bottle of the best lube the adult store down the street carries. He shucks his underwear quickly and opens the cap, drizzling some inside of Takahiro and then on the plug. It isn't thick, so he gently nudges the tip into Takahiro's hole and rolls it around to give that extra bit of stretch until its full length is seated inside.

Issei drops the lube back on the bed next to him and reaches for a small remote atop the nightstand. However, before he turns the power on, he turns Takahiro over onto his back and takes in his desire-twisted face. His eyes not leaving Takahiro's, Issei sinks his mouth around that thick cock, and he smirks around its girth as he turns the plug on to its highest setting.

Takahiro's hips jolt, and the head of his dick jams into the back of Issei's throat. He chokes around it, but he doesn't pull away, having practiced and practiced this very thing just for today. His jaw drops and his throat relaxes, and slowly, he begins to work as much of the length as he can manage and attends to the rest with his hand.

Words Issei can barely identify pour from Takahiro's mouth, who is pulling mercilessly on twin fistfuls of his own hair. Issei notes that bit of intel for future reference and continues on his quest. Letting his mouth do the work, he reaches over for the lube and squeezes some into his hand. Issei reaches around and circles his own entrance before easing a finger inside.

His hand moves in time with his mouth, and soon Issei feels his body grow impatient and adds another finger. The stretch makes him groan around Takahiro's cock, but when he sees the way it makes him jolt, Issei grips the base of Takahiro's length the best he can to keep him from coming too early. Takahiro's breaths are ragged and noisy, adorned with the softest moans of pure need, and Issei eagerly picks up the pace of both his mouth and his fingers.

Soon, Issei can't stand the pressure building up in the pit of his stomach as his knuckle continues to graze his prostate, so he pulls his mouth off of Takahiro's length and gasps for air as he groggily climbs up to straddle Takahiro's waist. He reaches behind him with his slickened fingers, working the length before adding more lubrication and doing it all over again.

"Ready for a ride?" Issei teases, but Takahiro doesn't laugh. Instead, he snares Issei's free hand and presses a kiss to the palm.

"I've been ready."

Issei closes his eyes as he lowers himself slowly onto Takahiro's thick cock. Every little bit, he pauses to adjust, the stretch more than anything he's ever felt before, but the stinging winds down to a dull ache of urgency that he has to force himself to ignore. When his ass finally bottoms out on Takahiro's groin, Issei is breathing hard and sweat is sprouting at his temples. His entire body feels full.

Takahiro is in similar shape, the hand laced with Issei's gripping tightly at the pure heights of the sensation. "Holy shit, you are tight," Takahiro croaked, bottom lip bruised from the strain of his teeth grinding into it. His other hand reaches out and drags his hand down the length of Issei's tattoo from shoulder to ankle. "You are so beautiful."

Issei is panting from the fullness, but it's framed by a look that he hopes Takahiro will know when he sees it — adoration. He leans down and brushes their lips together, drinking in Takahiro's hum on contentment, and begins to rock his hips. They find a rhythm together, with Takahiro's callused hands working Issei's own aching cock, and their pace soon quickens into urgency and disorder as they chase each other to the edge.

It surprises Issei when Takahiro reaches down and pinches the base of his own cock, but the look they share tells him all he needs to know: they're going to come together.

A knot tighter than anything he remembers feeling snaps in Issei's abdomen, and he comes hard and heavy onto Takahiro's chest. His hole spasms around Takahiro's length, and when the pressure at the base is released, Issei can feel come paint his insides.

Thighs burning and energy spent, Issei slumps forward to catch his breath before tugging out a towel he had hidden under his pillow. He drops it over the mess and collapses onto Takahiro's heaving chest. Arms wrap around him, and he can feel Takahiro nuzzling his hair. For a moment, he entertains the idea of pulling off of Takahiro's spent cock, but the lingering euphoria keeps him right where he is. And _that_ mess can be a problem for Future Issei, because Present Issei is more than happy to stay there.

Takahiro frames Issei's face in his hands and delivers a reverent kiss. When they part, Takahiro swallows hard before crushing Issei to his chest once again. Issei thinks he understands the man sagging into his mattress beneath him a little better, and he refuses to ever let Takahiro feel lonely or abandoned again as long as he has anything to say about it.

They stay like this for a while, still joined and unwilling to disturb this peaceful blanket of well-being draped over them. Issei observes that his ass will probably hurt for the rest of the day, but they can stay in bed the whole time just curled up into each other and he doesn't think either of them would consider it a loss.

However, Takahiro whines in frustration and croaks, "Babe, turn the thing off or you're getting round two whether you planned it or not."

Issei's eyes shoot open, and he fumbles for the cast off remote and dials it down. "Sorry." He feathers a kiss to Takahiro's throat and murmurs, "Comfy."

Takahiro strokes Issei's hair and hums in agreement, and Issei lets the malaise of sleep and satisfaction wash over him.

 

When Issei awakens, he’s under the covers and alone in the room. He slides his feet to the floor and hunts down his underwear and trousers, and it doesn’t escape his notice that Takahiro’s clothes are no longer strewn about the room — or in the room at all. Curious, he pads out to the main room, and he finds Takahiro in nothing but his boxers on the couch, staring at the wall with a blank expression on his face.

“Taka?” Issei moves to sit next to Takahiro on the couch, not sure if he should direct his attention to the sullen man next to him or the mental abyss he seems to be staring into.

Takahiro’s head and shoulders sag, and he looks more tired than Issei can ever remember. “This is probably pretty pathetic of me.”

Issei shrugs. “I couldn’t say, because I have absolutely no idea what’s going on. Wouldn’t mind if you filled me in on it.”

“Oh, that’s definitely not going to help the pathetic thing.” Takahiro lets out a humorless laugh and roughly rubs his hands over his face. “So, uh, I should’ve probably led with this, but I’m kind of damaged goods.”

“Okay.” Issei doesn’t mention what Akira had told him, hoping Takahiro will trust him enough in the future to share that information on his own. Instead, he reaches over and places a slack hand on Takahiro’s knee. “So you’re not all right. You can tell me if you want because it’s your business and not mine. I just want you to know that even if you are ‘damaged goods’, it doesn’t matter to me.”

Takahiro looks down at Issei’s hand and exhales heavily before covering it with his own. “I know you think that, Issei. You’re a great guy and I really like you, and you have no idea how much I want that to be true.”

Issei laces their fingers together and lets their joined hands fall on the cushion. Every word from Takahiro’s mouth sounds like a goodbye in the making, and in the absence of any other option, he resigns himself to enjoying what they’ve already had. “Thank you, by the way. For, you know, tucking me in. I don’t know why, but sex makes me hella tired. I’m sorry I left you alone.”

“It’s all right.” Takahiro chortles. “It can’t be that good of a fuck if you’re not worn out at the end, right?”

With a sigh, Issei leans back and mumbles, “Guess you still have an IOU, then.”

“Issei, I —” Takahiro turns and faces Issei for the first time since he sat down, and there is no mistaking the ache in his gaze. “I know I came on really strong when we first met, but I needed to feel in control of something. I just got out of a really bad situation, and I wanted a rebound, you know?” He lets out a wry chuckle. “You were hot and willing, and it was just supposed to be some fun for both of us.”

Issei gives him a lopsided grin, even though his entire being screamed to drag Takahiro back to bed and never let him go. “Well, I can’t say it hasn’t been a lot of fun.”

Takahiro slouches back and stares at the ceiling, taking a deep breath. “Yeah, it has. But it stopped being just fun for me a while ago. The craziest thing happened, though.”

“Oh?”

“I really didn’t plan on falling in love with you, but shit happens, I guess.”

Issei’s eyes widen at the declaration, and he can almost hear his heartbeat in his ears as the words sink in. Moments before, he had feared their relationship was over; now, he can’t even fathom letting go of it. He isn’t sure exactly what it is he feels for Takahiro, but he burns to find out.

“You’re, uh, not saying anything and I’m kind of freaking out right now,” Takahiro says, squeezing his eyes shut. “Please say something.”

Words flood into Issei’s brain, but he can’t string enough of them together to formulate any sort of reply. Instead, he swings a leg over Takahiro’s lap to straddle his waist. His palms curve around Takahiro’s jaw, tracing a thumb along the full curve of his bottom lip. A myriad of emotions flit over Takahiro’s face, and each one of them makes Issei’s breath catch.

This man loves him, and Issei yearns to find out exactly what that can mean for not just himself, but for both of them.

Issei presses his forehead against Takahiro’s, their breath mingling hot on his cheeks, and his lips twitch into a smile. “You know what? You think too much.” With that, he leans forward to press a searching kiss to Takahiro’s mouth, groaning as it’s returned with enthusiasm.

Both of them are grinning when their lips part, and Issei lets the new peaceful mood between them wash over him. Takahiro’s eyes close, and his hum of contentment tells Issei that the feeling is mutual.

Taking both of Takahiro’s hands in his own, Issei stands and pulls Takahiro close to his chest. He feathers a kiss to the tip of his nose. “You know what sounds really good?”

“What’s that?” Takahiro nuzzles the curve of Issei’s bare shoulder.

“Going back to bed and cuddling like sappy pieces of shit.” Issei groans when Takahiro’s teeth scrape against the sensitive flesh at the base of his throat. “Oh fuck that is nice.”

Takahiro’s mouth hovers over Issei’s ear, and there’s a smile in his voice as he answers, “I’d love that.”

Hand in hand, they make a different sort of journey back to Issei’s bedroom. Unlike the first fueled by heat and desire, they have all the time in the world to get to know each other and this newfound thing between then.

And Issei does still owe Takahiro an orgasm or two, but he has a feeling his credit will be just fine.

 

**Author's Note:**

> I haven't written this pairing in years, and I can't actually say why. I love these morons so much. Also, please be kind to me. I don't know jack shit about tattoos and had to do a lot of reading. If any of it is inaccurate, it was not intentional.


End file.
